


I'm Not Dancing With A Swan.

by merthur_at_221b



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gryffindor!John, M/M, Potter!Lock, gryffindor!sherlock, i prefer them in other houses but it's for the sake of the fic, potter lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:26:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merthur_at_221b/pseuds/merthur_at_221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John dancing together at the Yule Ball prep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Dancing With A Swan.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Yule Ball](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/27329) by it-for-jam-sherlock.tumblr.com. 



“Well, I’m not dancing with a swan,” John said in response to the last snippet he heard McGonagall say. “But this is assuming I can waltz at all, which is highly unlikely.”

Sherlock smirked, “Well, you can’t be horrible-you’re a bloody seeker! It takes immense balance and coordination, even a certain amount of grace to be able to play that position well.”

John felt a blush creep up his cheeks. Sherlock thought he was graceful? 

Him, who falls down the staircases on a weekly basis? 

Him, who took the entire first year before he stopped falling off his broom? 

John filled up with pride, and mumbled out, “Yeah, I s’pose you’re right.” 

Sherlock looked around the room and stood up. 

Holding his hand out to him, he said with a slight blush under his eyes, “Well, it seems as if we’re the only two left. Care to dance with me, or would you prefer to sulk?”

John’s thought flew at miles an hour. Apparently, while he was distracted, McGonagall had told everyone else to stand up and find a partner. 

He and Sherlock were the only two left. Logically, either they both danced together or they both sat down.

Not that John had a problem with dancing with Sherlock- he was about as in love with the madman as he could get- be he wasn’t sure he had the ability to restrain himself. 

Making a quick decision, he fought to keep his voice even as he grabbed Sherlocks outstretched hand and responded, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

A flicker of surprise overcame his face, but he covered it up with an indifferent one, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Oh no, Sherlock’s eyes were full of anticipation, wonder. He thought John couldn’t see it though. 

‘What an idiot,’ John thought to himself.

Thinking that he could hide himself from John. Amatuer.

The two made their way onto the floor and Harry muttered into John’s ear, “It’s about bloody time, you two.” John’s blush deepened as Harry said much louder, “Oi Hermione! You owe me five galleons!”  
Everybody’s heads swiveled around to locate the person who said that, to find Sherlock pulling John to a clear spot by his hand, obviously to dance.

Amidst all the snickers, McGonagall’s voice drifted over to them. “Gentlemen, please take your– ehem– partners waist with one hand. You other hand will hold your partners hand.”

Sherlock lightly placed his hand on John’s waist.

Ignoring the ways John’s heart rate doubled and how good it felt, John started to complain. 

Before he could even open his mouth all the way, Sherlock interrupted with a, “Too bad.” 

Resigned to his fate, John weakly asked, “No use arguing then?” Sherlock just shook his head. 

Grinning now, John slipped his hand inside Sherlock’s, enjoying the butterflies flying around inside his stomach and the elevated heart rate.

“Now, if you have a free hand, place it on your partner's shoulder,” The Professor said, and Sherlock snorted. 

John having to reach up his hand so high was certainly a sight he will savor. (But if Sherlock had his way, this wouldn’t be the last time such a sight was present for his viewing pleasure.)

“Shut up, Sher,” John mumbled as he placed his hand on said boys shoulder. He quite liked it, actually. 

Almost a hug, but not quite. Not nearly as intimate, but Sherlock obviously didn’t do ‘intimate.’ 

John was content to stay Sherlock’s friend, his best friend, because he’s had nothing before and he never could go back.

“Alright, begin!” Professor McGonagall said and turned on the gramophone. I started panicking. I missed the instructions, and I was far from any knowledge of dancing.

“Shit, Sherlock. How the hell do I waltz?” John asked, because he needed at least a minimal knowledge to be able to at least attempt dancing.

“Relax, John. It’s not as hard as you make it out to be. Just watch my feet. Start moving your left foot. Back–no. Just try– John!” Sherlock exclaimed, and they dissolved into giggles. 

John kept falling over his feet and Sherlock caught him, and grabbed his hands. The two locked eyes.

 

John was thinking hard about some things, even if his eyes didn’t reveal that. He was thinking about how he fell in love with Sherlock. 

He never had a sexuality complex-his family was very accepting, and Harry already came out. No need to think about how his parents would react.

And everyone who had an opinion he valued had a running bet on when they would get together since first year. 

John was never sure of the exact moment when he crossed over the platonic line in his mind. 

Maybe it was when he realised John was the only person Sherlock would every genuinely laugh with- maybe it was when Sherlock made a special smile only John was allowed to see.

But John is fairly certain it was the look that Sherlock makes whenever he gets complimented by him. It’s this mix of surprise and joy, and John is one of the few people who can give him that look. 

But right now, Sherlock's eyes are full of happiness and affection, and if John was willing to allow himself, he could see a little bit of love in there as well.

Sherlock was contemplating something similar–how had he let himself be swept up into such a problematic emotion by such a normal person. 

But he could never lie to himself and say John was normal. 

He deduced John within minutes of their meeting on the train, but he has been repeatedly surprised by the person that is John Watson. 

The implicit trust, the absence of it. 

His ability to read Sherlock like a book, and see things Sherlock makes sure to carefully hide. 

John truly letting himself go around Sherlock. 

John refusing to lie to him, and expecting Sherlock to do the same. 

But when exactly this friendship turned into a want for a romantic relationship...well, Sherlock played the moment over and over in his head. 

It was in the hallway after he pointed out that one of the Slytherins–Draco something– was cheating on his girlfriend with one of his cronies girl.  
Draco had called him a little freak and punched him in the face. 

Sherlock was just about to draw his wand when John ran over. 

Before anyone knew what was going on, Draco was on the floor, curled up and writhing with pain and Sherlock was sprinting towards the infirmary. 

John was asking Sherlock what happened and he was repeating the event. 

Sherlock was explaining almost absent mindedly, because he had never seen John like this-all the fury in his eyes, his hands clenched up tight, and Sherlock was amazed. 

John was so full of emotion on his behalf. No one ever cared that much about him before.

These thoughts only lasted a few seconds. 

John just turned his body to be face-to-face with Sherlock, even though their eyes never separated. 

Neither noticed the music stopped, or that they were in the middle of the room. 

John looked deeply into Sherlock’s eyes, and there lies the question John had always wanted to hear–Would you mind all that much if we kissed?– and almost imperceptibly, John smiled and nodded.

Standing on his tiptoes, John wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s neck and pulled him down just slightly. 

They both closed their eyes, and their lips met.

The entire room burst into applause and wolf whistles. They would have time to be embarrassed later, but right now...


End file.
